


We'll Handle It

by aislingdoheanta



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 4x09, Episode Related, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Protective Mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1639445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aislingdoheanta/pseuds/aislingdoheanta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey sees the evidence of what Kenyatta did to his little sister and it’s almost more than he can handle. But he’s not exactly alone anymore. Takes place in 4x09</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Handle It

**Author's Note:**

> **TW FOR MENTIONS OF ABUSE.**
> 
> I just think the dynamic between Mandy and Mickey is so interesting (and I wish it was seen more in the show). And I was rewatching season 4 and this scene stuck out to me, where you can see Mickey nearly fall apart. My head canon is that he calls Ian ‘cause he’s stretched thin as it is with everything going on with Svetlana. Oh Mickey, you deserve so much. (Sorry for my mini love fest)
> 
> Posted originally at my [tumblr.](http://saras-almanac.tumblr.com/post/85025274676/fic-a-day-in-may-day-seven)

“Fuck,” Mickey breathed out as his eyes darted from the door that Mandy had slammed in his face to the Russian whore sitting on his sofa. He felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe, like the walls were collapsing in around him.

How the fuck did this all happen?

Yesterday he was at the Gallagher house eating pancakes, sleeping beside Ian, and calm. Hell, he might have even been fucking happy. But then everything got fucked up. His bitch of a wife was demanding money and that he stay home—away from Ian—or she’d tell Terry which had been hard enough to deal with. And now, Mandy, his little fucking sister, the sister he was supposed to fucking protect, was bleeding in his bathroom.

He clenched his eyes shut but couldn’t breathe. He needed to handle this, to figure this shit out before it got worse.

His phone was in his hand before he realized he had even pulled it out. He walked into his room, dropping the pillowcase of shit he’d grabbed on the floor. His throat clogged and his eyes burned when Ian answered.

“Hey Mickey. Just on my way to work, what’s up?” How the fuck could just that kid’s voice calm him down?

“It’s Mandy,” Mickey said.

“Is she okay?” Ian asked quietly, the way he did when he was worried about something. Mickey wished he was here—not just for his own sake which was something he still wasn’t entirely used to, but because he would know how to get through to Mandy.

“No—I dunno man,” Mickey said. “I came by to grab my shit and she’s…he…”

“Did Kenyatta do something to her?” Ian asked, his voice hard.

“Yeah. She’s bleeding and…I—you—how the fuck did this happen?!” Mickey felt his control snap. It had been on edge since yesterday.

“Mick,” Ian said softly. “We’ll figure it out. Just…bring her back home with you. Okay?”

Mickey nodded and swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Shit. I gotta go Mick, but I’ll text you on my break, yeah?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Mickey answered.

“We’ll handle it, okay. It’ll be okay,” Ian assured him. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Mickey hung up as numbness set it. He walked to the bathroom and knocked on the door. “Yo, Mandy.”

“Fuck off!”

He took a breath. “Just open the fucking door would ya?”

She opened it and he was relieved to see it wasn’t as bad as it had looked now that she had washed the blood away. It was still not even remotely okay to see those marks on his little sister.

“The fuck do you want?” Mandy questioned refusing to let him in.

He wrung his hands and wished he was more like Ian. Ian would know exactly what to say to help her. He wouldn’t feel as if his entire being was being rubbed against a cheese grater. Ian knew how to help people.

“Kenyatta do this to you?” Mickey asked, desperately trying to keep the waver out of his voice.

The fight left her as she nodded. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Like hell it doesn’t!” Mickey nearly yelled.

“You come to fucking punish me too?” Mandy asked, the fire burning in her eyes.

“Nah, Mandy, fuck.” Mickey rubbed his hands over his head. “You okay?”

Mandy rolled her eyes—eye, her other one was swollen shut and Mickey wanted to throw up. He wondered if she ever felt like this after their dad was done with Mickey.

“The fuck do you think?” Mandy asked as she walked back to the sink to continue cleaning her face. Mickey watched her in silence, recalling all the times he cleaned his own wounds in this very bathroom.

The glass was still shattered from his fist.

“I,” he cleared his throat. “You don’t gotta stay here.”

“Not all of us get to go off and play house whenever we want,” Mandy snapped.

“I’m not playing house,” Mickey fired right back.

Mandy just laughed and the sound very nearly stopped whatever wasn’t shattered of Mickey’s heart. He felt ridiculous, but he couldn’t seem to grasp onto that anger, the anger that had kept him going—kept him fucking _alive_ for all these years.

“Just, come back to Ian’s. At least for tonight,” Mickey asked.

“Why?” Mandy asked not looking at him.

“Because you’re my fucking sister,” he said simply.

Mandy didn’t respond for a while, working on the cut on her face. “You sure they won’t mind?”

“Nah. Ian said it’s cool,” Mickey said.

“What about Fiona, Lip?” Mandy asked.

“Who gives a shit about them? You’re fucking family and I’m not letting you stay here tonight,” Mickey said, finally finding a little bit of his anger.

“Fine.”

“Good. Grab your shit. We’re leaving,” Mickey said as he turned to go grab his stuff.

“Hey Mick?” Mandy grabbed his sleeve to keep him from leaving.

He turned back to her, his eyebrows raised in question.

“Thanks.”

Mickey pulled her to him and threw his arms around his, albeit awkwardly, to hug her. “You’re welcome.”

Mandy squeezed him tight but didn’t say anything else. There had never been many words between the Milkovich family members. Here, actions spoke louder than words.

Mickey pulled away and looked down. “Now grab your shit.”

_We’ll handle it._

Ian’s words swirled in his mind and comforted him in a way he never thought possible. Because, with Ian, he didn’t have to face anything alone anymore. Of course, it was just easier that way, but he didn’t _have_ to handle anything alone. He just needed to say the word and Ian would be there, helping him figure things out or just fucking being there for him.

_We’ll handle it._

As he walked to his room, he knew that things were going to be okay. Somehow, things would work out. He’d deal with Kenyatta, make sure that Mandy was fine. He’d figure out how to keep his whore wife’s mouth shut. And when Terry got out, he’d deal with him too.

 


End file.
